


Me and My Husband - A Snowbaz Song Fic

by p4perback_writer



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Book 2: Wayward Son
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:07:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26817103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p4perback_writer/pseuds/p4perback_writer
Summary: And I am the Idiot with the painted faceWe’ve only just gotten back to a place where he’ll look me in the eyes again. He’s only just started holding my hand in public every once and while. I don’t want to upset him - to make him pull away from me again. These fleeting moments of contact have given hope that we can be ok again, and I don’t want to ruin it with our usual bickering over nothing, so I’ve tried to plaster a smile on my face even when he’s being unbearable.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Me and My Husband - A Snowbaz Song Fic

_And I am the Idiot with the painted face_

We’ve only just gotten back to a place where he’ll look me in the eyes again. He’s only just started holding my hand in public every once and while. I don’t want to upset him - to make him pull away from me again. These fleeting moments of contact have given hope that we can be ok again, and I don’t want to ruin it with our usual bickering over nothing, so I’ve tried to plaster a smile on my face even when he’s being unbearable.

He’s only just started therapy again, it’s natural that he has days like this. Days where the only times I’ve seen him move is from the bed to the sofa, and from the sofa to the fridge. Simon Snow is laying on the sofa, cider in hand, face town, mindlessly watching a show I know he couldn’t even tell me the plot of if I asked, and looking right through me. 

I want to yell at him for the crumbs his crisp packets are leaving all over the center table, or force him to go take a shower (he hasn’t in days), but instead I sit there, a blank and unperturbed look on my face, trying to drown out the television’s incessant drivel. 

_In the corner, taking up space_

“I’m going to go get a curry” I announce. “Would you like anything?” 

He gives me no response. 

“Snow?” I question after waiting a beat, making my way over to where he sits on the couch to place my hand on his shoulder. He moves away before I can make contact and grumbles in response. 

At Least it’s something, It’s more than I’ve gotten out of him all day. 

It’s days like this I let it get in my head that he doesn’t want me here, like I’m intruding in his life, taking up space in his apartment and stealing the air straight from his lungs. Everytime I feel like we are making progress, another nonverbal response or dodge of contact makes me question everything all over again. It’s days like this that I feel like loving him as fiercely as I can still isn’t enough. 

But I’ve been through enough counseling and joint sessions with him recently to know that these thoughts aren’t real, and that I need to get out of there and let myself breathe. 

“Alright.” I say, pulling my hand back and shoving into the depth of my pockets. “I’ll be back soon.” 

_But when he walks in, I am loved, I am loved…_

When I return home, I’m not greeted by Simon still face down on the couch. Instead, I open the front door to silence and the sound of whatever football match he was tooned into before disappearing to Chomsky knows where. 

“Snow?” I call. Nothing. I toss the take out bag down on the table and move further into the apartment to investigate. 

“Simo-” I stop at our bedroom door. It’s only 6 pm but he’s tucked himself back in and is drooling away on _my_ pillows. I smile a bit fondly before closing the door and making my way back out into the kitchen. 

I ended up buying him a curry, he always tries to steal from mine anyways (even when he tells me he wants nothing), so I shove it in the fridge so it won’t go to waste. 

Eating in silence under the fluorescent bulb of the kitchen’s overhead light isn’t the way I had wanted to spend this Thursday night, but I know there is no automatic cure. There have been plenty of nights I’ve eaten my dinner to the hum of the refrigerator, and I’m sure there will be plenty more. That is, until I hear the door to our room creak open, Simon emerging in nothing but his boxers and T-shirt with far too many holes in the collar to even qualify as a shirt anymore. 

He rubs his eyes before stumbling to the kitchen, stretching his back out and causing his shirt to lift up and reveal a hint of his tawny skin that I can’t help but stare at. 

“I didn’t hear you come in, have you been back long?” he yawns. 

“No, just got back in.” He shoots me a half smile before coming my way and giving my shoulder a quick squeeze. His touch makes my whole body warm. 

“Sorry I wasn’t up when you got back, I meant to rest my eyes for a minute and fell asleep.” He reaches down and tries to stick his hands into my rice before I quickly swat his fingers away. He gives me a sort of dejected look. 

“There’s one for you in the fridge, you heathen. When was the last time you washed your hands?” 

He ignores my question in favor of giving me the most genuinely happy looks he has in days and quickly making his way over to the fridge. 

_Me and My husband, we are doing better, It’s always been just him and me together._

We eat dinner across the table from each other in comfortable silence, Simon still not really being in a talkative mood. I’m ok with anything, just him being here across from me is enough. Just knowing that of all the places he could have chosen to be at this moment, he’s here, in the kitchen of the apartment we own together, eating cheap Indian take-out with me. 

If you had told 15 year old Baz that in a few years he’d be sat across the table from Simon Snow, completely in love but a little less hopelessly, he would have thought you were crazy. 

Sure, I’d never thought about a life without Simon Snow, but I’d never thought about a life past him either. I thought he’d be my everything in a sword-brandishing, life-ending sort of way where there _wouldn’t_ be life past him. But now there is no life past him for a completely different reason. 

There is no life past Simon Snow in a love-stricken, domesticated, partnership sort of way. A sort of way where, not matter how hard some days are, I can’t imagine a life without the way the Simon flinches when I shove my cold feet under his thighs when we sit on the couch together, or the way he could watch a movie a thousand times and still grab onto my shoulder in fear at the film’s climax like the ending is going to be different that time, or even the way we bicker over dumb things like the way he leaves his socks in the living room (which drives me up the wall.) 

_At Least in this lifetime, we’re sticking together_

Me and Simon, we’re sticking together. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Ahhhhh! hello this is my first fic ever so sorry if its kinda shit! hope you enjoyed!


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